Starlight
by desrm
Summary: He keeps the image of her to himself because he has the slightest fear that if he lets anyone else in, that day in the not-too distant past will feel like a memory, rather than a dream. AU LP.
1. Our Hopes and Expectations

_I'm back! With a non-oneshot! It shouldn't be longer than a few chapters, but I may suddenly get inspired and carry on for longer than expected, who knows?_

_This is something very different for me – it's completely AU. Which makes me slightly nervous, because I've never done that before._

_Some back story: Peyton doesn't live in Tree Hill, and thus her and the TH gang never knew each other or grew up together. For the sake of this story, the school shooting did happen, though obviously she wasn't there, and Keith did die._

_At this point, Lucas and Peyton are both in their early twenties (season 5 age, I suppose). Lucas is a writer, but is struggling to write a second novel._

_That should be all the details you need! Hope you enjoy!_

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It's been years. Two long years, and Lucas Scott is not sure he can even call himself a writer anymore. The thrill that came from publishing his first- and only- novel has come and gone, and apparently, so has his muse. Although he's never told anyone this, he knows the precise moment it walked into his life, because the time between then and the instant it walked out is permanently burned into his mind.

He won't even tell his closest friends and family what spurred his sudden inspiration when he wrote _The Comet_. His best friend, his brother, his mother and everyone else he knows have all tried to prod the information from him. Though their efforts have been nothing short of persistent, he never gives an answer that is substantial enough to feed their curiosity. After all, his generic responses such _as "inspiration comes unexpectedly,"_ or _"don't look for it, and you'll find it,"_ aren't exactly riveting.

But every once in a while, he'll let the tiniest beginnings of a smile grace his lips- an act that only he thinks goes unnoticed- and say in a gentle, almost pristine whisper: _"Just read the dedication in The Comet. That's why I wrote it."_

In response to this, he'll receive something along the lines of an exasperated sigh, mixed with a roll of eyes and an incoherent grumble. That specific page in his novel is composed of merely a sentence, of which seemingly no one but him knows the true meaning…

_"To waiting for someday."_

He's been hiding behind a veil of secrecy for so long for only one reason. He has the slightest fear that if he lets anyone else in, a day in the not-too distant past will feel like a memory, rather than a dream.

Memories fade, but dreams are unwavering, even tangible.

This dream, which he knows is the essence of his inspiration, is kept close to his heart. So, he holds on to it with every fiber of strength he has in his 21-year-old body.

But his strength is beginning to falter, and the possibility of _someday_ seems to drifting farther and father away with time.

This is why he has yet to find the will power to even put any thought towards a second novel. He could write another book about belief and hope, but at this point it would feel almost entirely false. Time is withering whatever amount of those feelings he has. However, whenever someone approaches the subject, he'll simply feign writer's block. In reality he knows that cliché doesn't even begin to cover his situation.

So, when Lucas hears his front door open and close, followed by Haley's voice making her presence known, he grumbles just enough to release his small amount of discontent. Hurriedly, he turns off his laptop and ventures toward the kitchen to greet his best friend.

"Hey Hales," he says with a smile, opening the fridge to grab himself a beer, offering her one as well. She grimaces and picks up a bottle of water instead. He faces her, leisurely leaning against the counter. "What brings you by?"

"Do I need a reason?" she says with just a hint of too much innocence in her voice, causing a knowing smirk to grace his lips.

"I guess not." He says.

"I mean, I _am_ your best friend." Lucas raises a skeptic brow, chuckling at the obvious nature of her statement.

"Lindsey sent you over here, didn't she?"

Haley coughs as she swallows a sip of water, shaking her head with far too much enthusiasm to pass as nonchalance. "What? Of course not. No... No." she meets his eyes as he stares at her inquisitively, "…maybe."

He heaves an annoyed sigh, rolling his crystal blue eyes playfully and crossing his arms over his broad chest. She's clearly not intimidated by his frustration with her for having teamed up with his editor. Hands on her hips, she silently scrutinizes him in that motherly way that is uniquely Haley; he feels his resolve crumbling quickly.

"She just wants to know if you're writing, and since you're ignoring all her calls and emails…" She says pointedly, making his stance turn sheepish in seconds. "She asked me to check up on you."

"I'm working on it." He says.

"Are you?"

Lucas uncrosses his arms to run a hand over his tired face, almost as in defeat, and he shrugs. Haley smiles desolately, giving his shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze.

"You're going to be okay."

"I don't know." He sighs, with a voice almost uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Whatever it is that you found to spark ideas last time… you'll find it again."

He lets Haley's words wash over him. They're warm and far more comforting than she may think. And though faith in them is hard to find, he can only put all his hope into the possibility that she's right.

It's only about an hour after Haley leaves, forcefully telling him to not dodge Lindsey the next time that she tries to get into contact with him, that his phone rings. He doesn't need to look at the caller ID to know that his editor is on the other end of the line. Sighing, he picks up his phone, puts it to his ear and waits for the lecture he knows is coming.

Sure enough, as soon as he answers, he's met with a reprimanding tone.

"So you _do_ know how the phone works!"

"Hi to you too, Lindsey."

"Sorry Luke, the casual act isn't going to work. Where have you been for the past two weeks?"

"Yeah, about that-" He isn't given a chance to explain, and is almost thankful for it.

"Tell me you were hiding away in seclusion, writing 24 hours a day."

There's an awkward pause, and Lucas despises himself just a bit for not being able to fill the silence adequately.

"Not exactly." He finally says.

"You must have _something_." She pleads.

"I'm trying."

"Lucas, I can't be your editor if there's nothing to edit."

"I'm trying!" He repeats, as if the words have suddenly gained more meaning.

"I hope so, or we'll both be out of a job soon."

Lucas grumbles incoherently, not understanding how everyone expects him to write hundreds of pages on a subject that he has not found.

"Look, I have to go." He sighs, hanging up before Lindsey can even get a word in edgewise. He knows she's probably the last person he needs to have a conversation with.

He tosses his phone roughly onto the desk in front of him, knocking over something in the process. As he kneels to pick up the item, his stomach knots when he realizes what it is. He purses his lips to keep his bottom one from trembling as he holds a photo frame in his hands. Thankfully, the glass is still intact, and he finds himself staring at the picture, smiling softly at the childhood memory it contains.

In that moment, he knows exactly who he needs to talk to.

He arrives at the cemetery, complete with a single flower in hand, not long after. A warm summer wind blows around him, somehow finding a way to comfort his shaken body. As he reaches his uncle's grave, he takes a deep breath and wills the small lump in his throat to disappear.

"Hey Keith…" he whispers tentatively. He kneels in front of the stone, bringing his free hand forward to let his fingers graze the letters etched into it. He sets the flower on the top edge of it and chuckles softly to himself. "Sorry for the cheap gift, I left home in a haste and this was all I could afford without my wallet with me."

The silence, with no low laugh or witty remark in a gravelly voice, nearly deafens him.

"So…" he murmurs after a moment, "I can't write a second novel. I've tried, I have. But there's nothing there. No motivation, no inspiration. All that left when I realized…" He swallows, almost choking on the sting of his next words. "When I realized that maybe _she_ wasn't coming back. She's not coming back, is she?"

He closes his eyes, and for a split second all he can see is curly blonde hair and deep green eyes that are enticingly venomous. He shakes the image from his head as quickly as it appeared.

"Am I supposed to just quit now? What am I supposed to do?"

A gust chooses that instant to roll in, and before Lucas can move to grab the flower, it floats from the gravestone and falls to the ground a slight distance away. He rises to retrieve it and something in the far corner of his eye makes his heart skip what feels like multiple beats.

Surely his vision is deceiving him…

But it's not.

She stands just several feet away from him and- all at once- so many thoughts rush to him that he can only process a few of them.

He can't believe how much he missed her.

She's even more beautiful than he remembered.

And god, is he glad that _someday_ is finally here.

All feelings of loss of inspiration vanish within a split second as he gazes at her, completely unmoving due to the sudden tension in his body. Her gaze shifts and their eyes lock, awakening emotions in him that have long felt dormant. A simple whisper is the only thing to escape his mouth; one sole word carrying enough meaning that, years ago, the person behind it was his reason for writing hundreds of pages.

"Peyton…"

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_You're probably slightly confused aren't you? Feel free to question me, but it's all going to come together soon!_

_In the meantime, let me know what you think!_


	2. Black Holes and Revelations

Wow. Missa kind of dropped the ball, huh? Badly. Several times. Well, being a literature major can really suck. So can lack of motivation. That's all the explanation I have and I'm sorry for that. Seeing as it's been so embarrassingly long, rereading the first chapter might be a good idea, haha. The plus side is that it's shorter than this one. This chapter is a flashback that explains the mystery of the first.

and a sidenote - Lucas, Peyton and Sawyer Scott are the most adorable family TV has ever seen. Thank you Mark Schwahn for the beautiful ending.

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**3 years before…**

Lucas wakes from a restless slumber in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled sobs coming from across the hall. His already broken and fragile heart sends a pang through his exhausted body. He purses his lips and runs a hand over his tired face, not sure how much more he can possibly take. Right now, he'd give anything to be able to fall into a deep sleep and let this day end.

Today, he watched half of Tree Hill mourn a loss.

He listened, through the incessant pounding in his head, as a preacher spoke words of faith and heaven and people leaving this world before their time…

Today, he watched as his uncle – more like his father – was lowered into the ground.

Since the moment they stepped foot back into their home, his mother has been locked away in her room. She does her best to disguise her crushing pain for his benefit - though it's much to his internal protest - but her quiet cries of loss resonate in his eardrums like a tortuous mantra.

He suddenly thinks that if silence were attainable, it would definitely be golden.

So he crawls out of bed as fast as his worn muscles will take him, throws on his old, tattered sweatshirt and makes his way out into the night.

It's not long before he realizes that his absentminded walk is leading him to the very place he was at mere hours ago. His steps are careless; with his mind in a haze he pays little attention to the world around him, as the cemetery comes into his line of vision. The screech of tires against pavement as he crosses the street is what makes him halt his movements, and instead of diving out of harm's way, he turns to find the source of the sound.

The front bumper of a black car – vintage, but somehow better looking than most of its modern adversaries - comes to a rough stop just inches away from him. With wide eyes, he peers through the darkness to catch a gaze at the driver. A familiar Dashboard Confessional song drifts in the air and he sees a girl, perhaps his age, behind the wheel. He's not sure why, but as their eyes lock, he's momentarily frozen in place. Time is stagnant and he doesn't know long he stares, but after a moment she raises her brow and animatedly motions for him to move out of the way.

As he walks away, watching this girl from the corner of his eye, he smiles for the first time in days.

It's dark, but already, he knows exactly which steps to take to reach his destination. As he finds Keith's headstone, he swallows the painful lump that has lodged itself in his throat and kneels to the ground.

At first he doesn't say anything because not only is he embracing the silence, but he finds that words aren't needed. With closed eyes, he prays to feel something other than loss and the sense of being caught in a tunnel without a light at the end. Silently, he wonders just how he's supposed to go on from here. How is he supposed to pick up the pieces of his shambled life and simply move on?

With a sigh, Lucas lets his fingers graze the etchings of Keith's name in the headstone. Tears spring to his eyes, but as he instinctively fights them back, he suddenly wishes he had the ability to break down as freely as his mother. He wonders if maybe he could find it in himself to release the pent up anguish and devastation, somehow he could find a way to not feel as if every new day is a burden.

"Hey Keith…" he whispers, "I'm sorry mom isn't here. She's, um… she's not well. She can't even bear to keep her engagement ring on her finger. I guess it makes her think of what could have been. I'm trying to take care of her… the way you would want me to, but she's a mess."

A single tear escapes his eye, cascading down his cheek and falling from the edge of his chin.

"So am I." He manages to choke out, the entirety of his body beginning to tremble. Suffocation suddenly grabs a hold of him; he needs to escape this place and go somewhere that will let him breathe again. But Keith's memory is a shadow tightly latched onto him, so he's not sure there's a place in this world where he might be able to find air. He stands anyway, needing to be anywhere _but_ there in the cemetery.

That's when he hears a soft cry resonate through the delicate night air.

Instinctively, he finds the source of the sound. His lips part in slight shock and his brows arches when he finds that girl, the one who had almost run him over just moments ago, mere feet away. His limbs once again prevent him from moving, so he watches her silently from a distance; he's inexplicably fascinated.

She's crouched near the ground, a hand resting on the stone that's placed in front of her. Her head is bowed low, and he can only assume she's still quietly sobbing. Her wild mane of blond, curly hair covers her face from his view. A tattered leather jacket is wrapped around her body and a pair of black converse sneakers are on her feet.

She lets the weight beneath her collapse, roughly sitting herself on the ground and wrapping her arms around her legs. She hugs them close to her chest, as if to protect herself from the outside world.

Finally, she must feel his eyes on her, after a few moments she looks up and their gazes lock. Hurriedly, she looks away before getting up and all but running out of the cemetery.

Lucas shoves his hands into his pockets, sighing deeply and giving a fleeting glance back to Keith's grave before leaving.

He isn't sure what his destination is, or really in what direction he's going, but he honestly can't find it in himself to care.

The same black car whizzes by him; a vintage convertible Mercury Comet he notes, in spite of its speed. His brow furrows as she continues to drive, failing to stop for a red light at the intersection ahead. He winces and looks on helplessly as the Comet swerves and screeches to a halt, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car that nearly hits the driver's side. Without a second thought, he's sprinting towards the car and jumping clumsily into the passenger seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands, almost screaming at this girl that he doesn't even know. There's something that tells him that his tone won't matter. He's proven right when she turns to him, unfazed.

"I could ask you the same thing… not many people would willingly jump into a car with a driver that just almost caused an accident." She bites back.

She has spunk; he'll give her that.

"Not many people drive through red lights, either." he retaliates.

She looks away from him and back to the road ahead of her. Gripping the wheel tightly, she stares as the driver from the other car honks his horn obnoxiously and drives away. Then she presses a heavy foot to the gas pedal, jolting the car to the point of almost giving them whiplash. They're speeding down the road, houses and scenery mere blurs as they pass. His stomach does several back flips and his heart thumps violently in his chest, but he almost smiles.

He doesn't care how fast this girl is driving or how scared he should be of being in her car, because for this first time in forever, he feels _alive_... but rational Lucas Scott, just as in most situations, takes over soon enough.

"Look, um…" he trails off when it finally occurs to him that he doesn't even know this girl's name.

"Peyton." She offers with a catty roll of her eyes- orbs that are deep shade of green, he's managed to notice despite the darkness.

"Peyton." He repeats, gripping the dashboard as she passes through another intersection. "Why don't you pull over?"

"If I do, will you get out?" She says. The words are harsh, but her tone is growing softer for reasons unknown to him.

"I think I'll stay." He can feel himself smirk.

For a short-lived moment, he wonders how the hell he can be smirking when hours before he watched as his uncle was lowered into the ground.

"Come on, let me drive." He offers, "I know a place not too far from here."

"Why would I let a complete stranger drive my car?" she arches her brow in response.

"Well, you're already driving like a maniac… What have you got to lose?" He says with a light laugh in his voice. "I'll let you yell at me the whole time if you want to."

He can swear he sees the tiniest beginnings of a smile form on her lips as she relents, pulling the car over and letting him claim the wheel.

"By the way," he says as he puts the gearshift into drive, "I'm Lucas."

They're silent for a while, listening to an old rock song from before they were both born playing lowly on the radio. The fact that they're not speaking isn't awkward, as it probably should be. It's good and it's comfortable.

And for some reason, it feels _right._

"So... Lucas," she says when he turns into an unusual lot, "where are you taking me?"

"We're here." he smiles, parking the car and handing her the keys as he pulls them out of the ignition.

"A run down basketball court...?" she inquires after scanning their surroundings, skepticism laced in her voice.

"It's more than that."

Her smile is small and slightly lopsided, but it's there. Instead of taking a seat on the bleachers to the side of the court, she carelessly sits herself in the middle of the it and winces a bit at the cold feeling of the pavement. He sits next to her, taking the opportunity as she stares out at the water ahead of them to steal a glance at her. The notion of beauty doesn't begin to cover what he sees; and that thought astounds him in a way that makes the air in his lungs feel thick and suffocating. He sighs before finally speaking.

"So, what brings you to Tree Hill?"

"Am I that obvious?" she says incredulously, turning to him with a kink in her brow.

"Small town." he shrugs. He doesn't mention that surely, had he seen her once before, he'd remember.

"An anniversary, you could say." she mutters in a way that's nearly incoherent. He nods, not understanding in the least, but choosing not to press her for information. It's then that he realizes that he revels in the mystery of this girl that he's only known for an hour or so. She tucks a stray curl of blond hair behind her ear and he looks away before she can catch him staring.

They're both silent for several moments, embracing the soundless existence of the sleepy town while they watch the street lights twinkle from across the river.

Lucas takes in his surroundings, images from his memory flanking him from every angle: from the blacktop he's sitting on to the basket on his right. It's the spot where Keith first taught him how to make a free throw while his mom cheered him on from the sideline. He swallows back the painful lump that's suddenly lodged itself in his throat and breathes deeply.

"My uncle used to take me here when I was a kid... He'd teach me how to play basketball or sometimes we'd just sit and watch the stars until my mom would come and get us because it was passed my curfew."

She turns to him with an unreadable glint in her eyes and he gives her a soft smile in response. He isn't sure if it's his way of reassuring himself or of persuading into conversation.

"I was born in Tree Hill." She admits, shifting her gaze away from him and crossing her arms over her chest. "But I only lived here until I was barely 2."

"So you and your family moved away?" he asks needlessly.

"Yeah, my..." she trails off for a moment, "My mom died when I was a baby."

"Peyton, I'm so sor-" she cuts him off before he can finish the thought.

"It's okay." she says, though she seems to contradict herself when she shakes her head. "She, um... she was in a car accident, 17 years ago - today. She drove through a red light."

With that, she's just a little less mysterious to him.

"I guess my dad couldn't bear to stay here, so he moved us to New York. He's usually around for today, but this year he just left me a voice mail from work. I didn't want to be in the city, alone, tonight... so here I am."

Lucas is at a loss for words, but when Peyton quickly tries to blink back the tears forming in her eyes, he finds himself unable of not consoling her. So he rests a warm hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently.

"I drove for hours to talk to a rock in a cemetery." She says in a light manner, but there's still a bitter tone to it.

Lucas laughs breathlessly, but they both know there was a lot more to what they were doing in that cemetery. At least, he hopes there was.

"I never get to see the stars in the city." she whispers, leaning back against the pavement with an arm behind her head. A moment passes and she sighs - not in exasperation, but in satisfaction. "It's so quiet."

"Yeah." He murmurs in agreement, mirroring her movements and laying down. He revels in the quiet; there's no muffled sobs sounding from across a hallway, no one offering their condolences that do nothing to soothe him, and nobody is watching him as if they're expecting a monumental break down at any second.

He wonders if this is what peace used to feel like.

He decides that it is when he turns to look at Peyton. Eyes shining in the moonlight, her face is illuminated just enough for him to memorize its soft features, and there's a sated smile tugging at her lips as she stares at the stars above them.

He doesn't know how long they lay there - possibly hours - but they talk about almost anything. And everything. She rambles about music and he gives her a list of his favorite novels. He mentions Keith and she tells him about her father's job on a dredging boat. She says that she misses her mom, even though she never really knew her, and he speaks about his own mother with a sweet smile on his face.

In a murmur that Lucas can barely make out, she says that people always leave. When he looks over at her, she unsurely meets his gaze with her emerald eyes. Somehow knowing that she needs reassurance, he tells her that sometimes they come back.

"Hey," she exclaims after a wordless moment, motioning towards a light streaming slowly across the sky, "is that a shooting star?"

He inexplicably finds himself thinking of her car, and that moment she nearly ran him over with her hasty driving, before he looks above them.

"I think it's a comet."

Peyton giggles a little, and Lucas grins because something tells him that she doesn't do it all that often.

They watch the light in the sky until it disappears in the horizon; then their eyes lock and she bites her bottom lip, a habit that he's noticed she's done twice already.

"We'll probably never see that again." she mumbles in a evasive tone; it feels like she's trying to say something completely different.

"Maybe someday." he shrugs and it makes her nod in respond before letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Well," She gets up with haphazard movement, brushing wrinkles from her clothing. "I should start driving, Tree Hill and New York are kind of far apart." She purses her lips, looking to the ground sheepishly before shifting a wistful glance back to the river. "Thanks, Lucas." He's left to wonder what exactly she's thanking him for.

She starts to walk away, and he almost lets her go without a word. Almost.

"Hey Peyton!" he calls out as he stands, making her turn around to face him. He nearly loses her train of thought when he sees her rest a hand on her hip and her blond curls spring with her movements. He regains it when she gives him a subtle, friendly look of curiosity. "Think you'll come back?"

She nods ever so slightly, gazing at their surroundings - as if to take it all in. It's obvious that she's in deep thought when her body heaves a dramatic sigh. Then she smiles at him, virtually beaming, and releases a breathless laugh.

"Maybe someday."

It takes him a moment for him to realize that the feeling washing over him is hope, and he comes to just as she waves to him before getting into her car. Then she's starting the ignition and driving away.

When he finally makes it home, he pulls out his laptop for the first time in days. That night, he finds it in himself to let words flow freely. So he writes about a comet - and about beauty, direction and meaning.

And all he can think of, with each tap of his fingers on the keyboard, is the prospect of someday.

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If you're not too incredibly angry about the long wait for this, let me know what you think? Thanks for reading!


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